I Won't Be Reading It After All

Given my minor interests in rock history, the sixties, and creative communities, I got all excited when I heard about Laurel Canyon, a new book about--duh--Laurel Canyon and the L.A. music scene in the 60s and 70s. It got a good review in Salon, so I hied me to the library request site, requested it, and forgot about it. Earlier this week I got the email telling me it had arrived, which is one of the great things about requesting books from the library--not the email, but the surprise of its arrival and the realization that you have a new book to read!

Not so fast, Charlie. (For some reason, I'm thinking that's a line in the old Starkist tuna commercial, but actually I don't think so. Why on earth would it come into my mind to say "Not so fast, Charlie"?!) (OK, clearly I meant "Sorry, Charlie," which would be just as good, in fact, better, but I'm still wondering if there is some other Charlie that goes too fast?)

The first bad sign was the cover which is a total knock-off of Positively 4th Street, which is a great book about rock history, the sixties, and creative communities, in this case Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and Richard and Mimi Farina.

Then I went to the pictures. I'm flipping through the book now, trying to remember why I got so annoyed at the pictures. The pictures themselves are fine, though pretty chintzy--blurry black-and-whites of various sixties folk-rockers--but the captions are just annoying, only I'm not sure I can communicate why. Like this:

Morgana Welch, 1972. Morgana was typical of the very young groupies who cruised the Sunset Strip in the early '70s and made the Rainbow Bar and Grill and the Continental Hyatt House (a.k.a. the "Riot House") their second homes. Though only sixteen, she was soon cavorting with Led Zeppelin, "There was a power in being able to provide fulfillment of fantasies of these men [who] were older than me."

Isn't that a pretentious caption? OK, just take my word for it: it is.

Then I went to the beginning of the book, and this is the first sentence:

In 1968, a British pop star and the refugees from two seminal Los Angeles bands gathered in a cottage on Lookout Mountain Avenue in Laurel Canyon, the slightly seedy, camp-like neighborhood of serpentine one-lane roads, precipitous hills, fragrant eucalyptus trees, and soft crumbling bungalows set down improbably in the middle of Los Angeles, and sang together for the first time.

Now I like modifiers as much as the next self-important writer, but that is ridiculous. I had to read the sentence three times. And the next was the same, and the next, and the next. I kind of want to quote the full first two paragraphs, because I am just so indignant at how badly written this book is, but I will limit myself to one more sentence:

The refugees were Stephen Stills, late of the Buffalo Springfield, writer and singer of "For What It's Worth," who had three years before auditioned for the Monkees and, having failed, recommended his friend, a folkie named Peter Torkelson; and David Crosby, late of the Byrds and "Mr. Tambourine Man," possessed of a Buffalo Bill mustache, an immaculate harmony voice, and piercing eyes that Mitchell, with typical literary flourish, likened to star sapphires.

Now, I can see why you might want to include all that information in your book, but there is simply no reason for it all to be in the same sentence.

OK, I can't help myself. The other problem is the absurd superlativity of the book's claims, so I will just quote two more sentences:

It was Brigadoon meets the Brill Building, and the repercussions thirty-odd years later continue to pour from radios, iPods, and concert stages around the world.

Actually, I'll limit myself to that one. "Thirty-odd years later" should come before "repercussions," or you need some commas, and how on earth do "repercussions" "pour"? Not to mention "pour from...concert stages"? (Repercussions reverberate.)

I skimmed through a bit of the book to see if the narrative would be worth the leaden, purple prose, and it didn't seem like it. I already know a lot of this stuff, if not the exact specifics of who slept with who while listening to which song in which cottage in April 1969, so I don't think the gain will justify the pain.

Much better to reread I'm With the Band (which, if you're at all interested in pop culture, rock history, and the sixties, is top of the must read list) (and in case the Powells link doesn't convince you, here's Pamela Des Barre's website).

[You know what another bad sign is? I just remembered that the other reason I wanted to read the book was that I loved the movie Laurel Canyon. Except then I looked it up for the link, and realized that I thought the movie Laurel Canyon was totally stupid. The movie I loved was Sugar Town which is set in Laurel Canyon. And the way I realized that Laurel Canyon is not the movie I loved is I knew that in the movie I loved, John Doe lived in Laurel Canyon--and how can you not love a movie with John Doe living in Laurel Canyon?!--so I went straight to the cast list of Laurel Canyon to find John Doe, only he wasn't there.]

[I'm not quite sure why I have devoted all this time and space to a book I am not going to read. I think, perhaps, because I was quite looking forward to it and am disappointed, and because I am so disgusted with the writing, and just hate the idea that such a badly-written book could garner such good reviews.]